


Windfall

by fantasmefantastic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Reunions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 13:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19975198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasmefantastic/pseuds/fantasmefantastic
Summary: "For as long as I live, and as long as I love, I will never not think about you." In which Emma and Killian can't quite get it right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **title** : Windfall  
>  **pairing** : Captain Swan (BECAUSE OTP FRIENDS!)  
>  **author's note** : On my original account on fanfiction.net I had this, and I wanted to bring it on over to AO3 to see what y'all thought! Then I had the idea for another chapter annddddd...here we are.  
>  **disclaimer** : I do not own OUAT.

Killian can feel Emma watching him from across the room.

He is not going to fidget.

He is not going to look back.

He is going to keep staring at the screen.

(Yeah, he isn’t paying any attention to this movie.)

Killian has been avoiding her all night. She arrived later than everyone else, and said hello to everyone, and he said hello back, and that was the extent of their interaction. She sits in Regina's living room, among their friends, watching a stupid movie, like they do every other Tuesday night, making jokes, complaining about school—and he is pretending she is not there.

David and Mary Margaret are snuggled together on the couch. Robin sits in his usual recliner, with Regina on his lap. Will and Jefferson are stretched out on the floor, Ruby sits between them, her back up against the couch. Belle sits behind her friend, playfully braiding her hair, with Emma on the other side.

Emma Swan, who is watching him.

He knows she is wondering why he isn’t sitting next to her.

She is discreet. The others don’t notice. But he does. Every few minutes that (beautiful) blonde head tilts oh-so-slightly to the left, and those (gorgeous) green eyes flit across the room, to land on him. 

Those eyes are gravity.

Killian closes his eyes and lets out a quiet sigh—if it was heavy, Ruby would immediately be on him, “Why are you sighing like that?” “What’s the matter?” “Nobody sighs like that without something being wrong!”—and it would all be downhill from there.

This is a battle for him. This is _hard_ for him.

The easy thing to do would be to look back at her, to joke with her, to tease her. It would be easy to fall into their old pattern, to pretend to say goodnight, then sneak over to her apartment later. It would be like breathing, taking her face in his hands, kissing her, letting her devour him.

But he just—he just can’t anymore.

A drunk kiss at the beginning of the semester (“Hey, you know what would be a great idea? If you kissed the girl you’ve been in love with for two years right now!” – Alcohol) had led to many a night together.

Once, he’d been brave and asked her, “Emma, is this just sex for you?” She hadn’t been able to look at him when she said, “I—I’m a mess right now. I’m not in a good place. I’ll get back to you on that one.”

He’d eaten it up of course; because it was Emma and he loved her and any scrape of attention she gave him he picked up and held close to his heart. Every glance, every text message, every kiss, every touch was kept and locked and loved, deep inside him.

Deep enough so she couldn’t see it.

Or did she? Did she know how he felt? Had it hidden it so well? 

Killian resists the urge to tear his hair out. 

Questions like that, questions about Emma, always wondering if she cared about him as more than a friend, more than a fuck buddy, were driving him insane. He spent nights lying awake, thinking about her, wondering if she were thinking about it. He questioned everything she said, everything he did. Half the time, he begged for her attention. Half the time, he acted aloof and distant, uncaring either way. 

And he just can’t do it anymore.

Finally, the movie ends, and Killian makes his escape.

“Well, I’m off,” he says, getting to his feet and stretching. 

“This early?” Belle asks. “Are you feeling all right?”

(Damn, these women friends of his, always caring and asking questions.)

“I’m fine,” he says, tossing her his best smirk. “Got Gold’s final in the morning, you know.” He winks at her, and she flushes—Belle’s on again off again relationship with the handsome psychology professor is a constant topic of discussion amongst the college students. 

Right on cue, Ruby squeals, “How is that going, by the way? What are you going to do over summer break?”

Belle stammers something back, and Will cracks a stupid joke, and Mary Margaret scolds him.

And Killian slips out the door.

The early spring air still has a chill to it, so he adjusts the collar of his leather jacket and starts towards the apartment he and David share. David would probably stay with Mary Margaret that night, and Killian tries not let jealousy surge through him.

He’d never wanted someone to just sleep next to, before Emma. He is starting to think of his life in two phases: Before Emma and After Emma. Hating that he sounds like a bloody romantic, Killian scowls as he checks the street (deserted by this time of night) and starts across.

“Killian!” calls a voice, and he freezes as the sound of heeled boots striking the pavement in quick succession—she’s running after him—echoes through the empty street. “Killian, wait!”

He turns. 

Emma Swan jogs up to him, slowing to a stop just before she crashes into him. He catches her scent—cinnamon, as always—and tries not to breath it in. Her nose is pink in the cold, her blonde hair falls around her shoulders, effortlessly messy, her eyes are bright as she peers at him.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

No.

“I’m fine.”

She arches one eyebrow at him. “Right, how about the truth now?”

“Emma, I’m fine, really.” 

Liar.

He can see her starting to get annoyed with him.

“You barely spoke to me tonight. Hell, you barely looked at me,” she complains.

“I didn’t realize that was in my job description,” he spits back at her.

This time it is confusion that flickers through her eyes.

“Why are you angry with me?” she asks, softly.

He shrugs and lies again, “I’m just tired. Finals and all.”

“Killian—,”

“Emma,” he interrupts. “I just—I don’t really want to talk to you right now.”

He turns his back on her and starts walking away, hunching his shoulders against the cold, against the pain. The cold lessens—the pain does not.

“What?” Emma replies, bewildered. She starts after him, reaches out and grabs his elbow. “Wait, why? Tell me what's going on," she begs.

“God, Emma, are you blind?” Killian finally snaps, tearing his arm from her grasp. Emma flinches away, startled by his sudden outburst. “I am crazy about you! I have always been crazy about you. Everything about you is amazing and perfect and drives me insane.” 

Her mouth drops open, utterly shocked. 

“And this,” he waves his hands between them. “I can’t do this anymore! I am losing my mind trying to understand yours.”

“You’ve always understood me better than anyone,” she says, quietly.

“Not when it comes to this! Not when it comes to me!” Killian practically shouts at her. “And I know you have feelings for me, I know you do—because otherwise, why would you keep coming back to me? You could have any guy you wanted, but it’s me you always come to. But you acting like you don’t—“ He cuts himself off, runs a hand through his hair, tries to calm down, tries to compose himself.

“I thought I was strong enough,” he says, quietly now. “I thought I could be whatever you needed me to be, but it turns out I can’t—it turns out I fucking love you, and you can’t love me, and I—I can’t do this anymore. “

Emma is looking at him with utter sadness in her eyes, but there are no tears. There is no anger, there are no accusations. There is no denial.

_Please._  
_Say I’m wrong._  
_Call me insane._  
_Tell me you love me._  
_Please._

_____ _

_____ _

But she doesn’t, and Killian knows—knows—that he’s right.

She can’t love him back.

(Not right now anyway.)

He takes her face in his hands for what he knows is the last time, and presses a kiss to her lips. It is light, gentle, so unlike their usual encounters, and then she kisses him back. Because she is Emma and she understands, she always has.

“I love you, Emma Swan.”

“Killian—,”

But he is walking away, and Emma is watching him go.


	2. Autumn Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place, and I can picture it after all these days. 
> 
> In which, five years later, Killian finds himself in a familiar place, wondering if she thinks about him as much as he's thought about her.

Killian walked the streets of his old college campus, breathing in the autumn air, and thought that if he were good at poetry, perhaps he could write something pretty about the falling leaves around him. Nostalgic, he thought, trying to name the warm feeling spreading through his chest. He was not particularly good with words or artistry or creativity, so he remained quiet, content to watch the drifting colors and the rustling branches. 

It felt good to be back.

Not that Killian regretted his time in California. He’d fled his hometown and college campus in favor of the Cali-sunshine and beaches. It had been easy to find maine work out there, and he’d put in a few good years on the ocean water. Of course, then he’d met Milah. Killian was happy to find that he could think of her now without that painful sting in his heart.

It had taken Killian a long time to accept that the pain wasn’t because of losing Milah, or because of their failed relationship, but because he felt ashamed, embarrassed, about it. It had been clear for a long time, far too long, that he and Milah would not work, would never work. They’d both just been too afraid to end it, until one day, it was just over. 

(Nothing like the pain he'd been in when he walked away from a certain blonde-haired, green-eyed girl.)

And, in typical Killian fashion, he’d packed up and headed off to another city, a new home, leaving his broken relationship behind. This time, he had landed in Boston, not far from his old college stomping grounds. He had kept in touch with a few of his college mates over the years, and never returned to campus until now. Even those strong friendships had lessened over time, worn away by things like relationships, marriage, kids, as natural as water eroding rock.

Killian smiled a little to himself as he looked up at the house he used to live in, with all the guys, and the girls’ house only a few blocks away. They’d thought they would be friends forever, back then. 

_Emma, Emma, Emma._

Her name echoed in the beat of his heart, even if Killian had long ago banned himself from speaking her name. But it was impossible not to think of her here, among the autumn leaves, breathing in the crisp air. Something about fall had always made him think about Emma Swan, with her long blonde hair, leather jackets, and a penchant for hot chocolate (not coffee, never coffee). 

But after that winter night, senior year, when Killian had walked away from Emma, leaving her stranded on the sidewalk, things hadn’t been the same. Their friends hadn’t known they were sleeping together, so he had nowhere to take his heartache when Emma had not chased after him. So Killian found himself withdrawing from his friends, bailing out on weekend plans, hanging out with only the guys, pretending he was failing a few classes so he had an excuse to hide out in the library. That was when Belle had found him and, nursing her own heartache from one dashingly handsome professor, they’d become quite close. She was the only one he’d kept in frequent touch with, all these years later, even after graduation, and Killian’s move to California, and Belle’s graduate study in Oxford. 

Last he heard about Emma was that she’d taken a job in law enforcement somewhere in New York, sharing an apartment with Regina, who was studying at Columbia for her post-grad law degree. That was at least five years ago. 

And then - 

“Killian?”

He froze. 

Surely, surely, the universe would not be this unkind to him. It would not put him in the path of the blonde woman who had broken his heart more fiercely than a three year relationship with Milah had. It would not force him to see her for the first time in years - _years_ \- when he was feeling all nostalgic and mopey, thinking about days past and faded friendships. 

But it would, and it did, because when he turned around, there was Emma Swan.

She looked the same. Her outfit, a white cable knit sweater, jeans, boots, a gray beanie pulled low over her forehead, and a red leather jacket, was exactly like he remembered. But no, she looked better. She seemed more sure of herself, holding herself differently, as if her very core had been made stronger in the past few years. Her hair was the same shade of blonde, like the sun filtered through clouds, pale and light, falling well past her shoulders. Even from a few feet away, the forest-green of her eyes cut through his soul, bright and curious in a face made for smiling, set about lips made for kissing.  
He read the hesitancy on her face, the unsureness, as if she didn’t know if she should have called out to him.

“Let me guess,” Killian said, eyeing the to go cup in her gloved hand. “Hot chocolate with cinnamon?”

And with that, a smile broke across her face, and all of the years, the memories, the chasm between them were gone. It was as if he had blinked and he was back in college, walking to class with Emma beside him, laughing and carefree, as if nothing else in the world mattered other than being with her.

Emma, still smiling, came towards him, even though there was a measure of caution in her face. His heart ached for it, and somewhere in the corners of his mind, he wondered how it was possible to still feel this way for her, all these years later. He regretted turning the cold shoulder on her the way he did; when Killian thought of that time, all he could remember was the cold sting of winter, and the way he’d wanted, more than anything, for Emma to feel something for him. 

“You know me better than anyone,” Emma said, and he knew she was teasing, but he flinched. It was one of the last real things she had ever said to him.

Killian shrugged it off and, after an awkward moment, unsure of how to greet her, he opened his arms. Emma’s gaze flickered from his hands to his face, and then she threw herself into his embrace. 

Emma, once she decided you were a person she wanted in her life, was a fierce hugger. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her head ducking just under his chin as she pressed again. Killian staggered, briefly overwhelmed by her familiar weight, the scent of her shampoo, the simple feeling of holding her again. 

“Swan,” he greeted, gruffly, as they broke apart. Emma peered up at him with inquisitive green eyes, and he relaxed a bit. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” Emma acknowledged, and he wondered if he imagined that brief glimmer of pain in her eyes. She did not seem angry with him - it had been five years, for Christ’s sake - but maybe she had been, back then. He’d been so desperate to get away from her, almost hysterical with a need to not feel like such an idiot for being in love with a girl who could not love him back. “It’s great to see you. Are you back in town for good?”

And with that, they were chatting, getting to know each other, getting reacquainted. While they talked of the past few years (California sunshine, his favorite place in Santa Monica, New York city streets, she discovered a love of sushi that she’d refused to even touch back in college) they wandered through their old campus, stopping to get drinks (coffee for Killian, more hot chocolate for Emma), and eventually made their way into town, passing by their old favorites: the bar, the bridge they’d jumped off on a dare, the diner they’d gone to every Sunday for breakfast, until - 

“Do you remember this spot?” Emma said, suddenly. 

The crosswalk, a block away from the girls' old apartment. That was senior year, when he and David had gotten their own apartment, while Robin, Jefferson, and Will had hung onto the shitty fraternity house. The girls had all lived together in a much nicer place, and that had been their preferred destination to congregate for weekly movie night.

Killian stopped walking, turning to face Emma once more. She stood where she had all those years ago, just out of his reach. 

_Killian! Killian, wait!_

Oh, he remembered.

Emma sighed heavily, as if the memory of that night weighed on her. “I kind of deserved it,” she said. “I was...I was a mess back then, Killian. And you got caught up in it. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“Maybe not,” Killian said, “but you didn’t deserve to be yelled at in the middle of the street over it.”

“It wasn’t the yelling,” Emma said, quickly, as if she had been waiting to say these things for a long time. “It was the not speaking to me again after that. I knew I had hurt you and I didn’t know what to say. I thought you’d come back and we’d be able to…”

“But I left,” Killian whispered, his eyes drifting down to her lips. Somewhere in all of that, Emma had drawn closer to him. 

“You left,” Emma whispered, and he’s sure this time that he sees pain in her eyes, hears it in her voice. “And you broke my heart when you did.”

A throb of pain coursed through him at her words. They’d been so fucked up as kids in college. “I never wanted to hurt you,” Killian said. “I was just stupidly in love with you, and I didn’t think you felt the same way about me.”

“I didn’t know it then,” Emma said, “but I was.” 

Killian had absolutely no idea what to do with this information. “Swan, I--,”

“It’s kind of weird,” Emma interrupted, looking away from him. “But when I was in New York, I met this guy, Neal. We started dating and were together for a few years. It was a pretty serious relationship, I mean, we almost moved in together! Then when it ended, I thought I would be devastated, right? I thought I would be so miserable and unhappy and lonely, because that’s what happens when you get left.” Emma turned back to him, her green eyes catching his squarely, in a way that sees directly into his soul. “But I wasn’t. Turns out I only ever felt that way about you.” She offered him a small smile. “Too little, too late, I guess.”

“Emma, I…”

“Don’t,” she said, quickly. “I don’t want you to say anything. I just wanted you to know that I...that you’re important to me. You’ve always had a part of my heart with you.”

Suddenly, Killian could not stand it anymore. They had been so stupid. They’d played games with each other’s hearts -- Emma with his in the first place, Killian with hers after the fact. But the truth remained: all of these years apart, and they still thought of each other, and a winter semester they had spent together. And now, they were together again, in the same place. 

It had to mean something, didn’t it?

So Killian decided the only logical thing to do was kiss her. He was moving before he even knew he’d decided to do it, and Emma was catching his lips with hers and then they were both falling, falling, falling. College memories and the taste of cinnamon and five years had nothing on that kiss. It was pure and simple and perfect, and then it was over too soon, because Killian was pulling away, leaving Emma breathless and rosy-cheeked.

“I think,” Killian murmured, his lips hovering over hers, already ready to kiss her again, “that we have wasted enough time being apart.”Emma’s smile was immediate and brilliant, as bright as the sun bursting through rain. “Want to get some dinner?”

“Sure,” Emma replied, “there’s just one thing.”

“Mhm, what’s that?” Killian asked, thinking there was nothing in this life or the next that could keep him from her again. 

Emma said, “I have a kid.”


End file.
